


who you are

by fromhilltovale



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Self-Harm, Therapy, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fromhilltovale/pseuds/fromhilltovale
Summary: he's sat in this chair. for many days. many nights. he's let himself be swallowed by the soft faux leather and gentle springs hidden underneath, plushed with cotton fluff and foam.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	who you are

he's written this before. he's spoken, whispered into the night. again and again. like some foolish man who needs to perfect each word of the same tale, time and time again.

he's sat in this chair. for many days. many nights. he's let himself be swallowed by the soft faux leather and gentle springs hidden underneath, plushed with cotton fluff and foam.

the same man. tall and silent. he waits for the fool to speak again. to repeat the tale he can't seem to let go. the tale he direly needs to let go. yet the fool speaks. his voice still wavers. his thoughts still race and drop. and they break into little pieces until he can no longer grasp the memories of the story he so desperately repeats.

the man. tall and no longer silent now. he speaks, not a whisper. a steady voice. and prompto no longer feels like floating.

"let's speak of other things."

always this.

he settled in the chair, waiting for questions that will distract him and keep him pressed firmly to reality.

"what did you do today?"

_ what did you do. _

he felt the hair on his neck stand. what did he do?

"i woke up."

"already a good start."

prompto didn't feel the same. 

"yes." he lied anyways. "i ate. i showered. i cleaned." he lied anyways, because who would suggest otherwise. and who would care enough to look deeper into the words he whispered.

the tall man hummed and wrote something down on his board.

"anything else?"

_ so much more.  _

prompto shook his head. "no. i finished cleaning. and then came here."

"i see."

the tall man did not discuss the red on the other's arm. and then their session ended.

"i would like to see you next week. if possible."

_ possibly not possible. _

"i'll make sure to book one for then." he lied anyways.

+++

he wasn't supposed to do it.

he had to stop repeating the same tale. same unspoken conversations. he needed to stop sneering and barking at his reflection. and making the other him cry ugly tears.

he didn't want to cut the skin deep. while mindlessly mumbling music blaring to try block everything out.

_ but he did. and he did. and he did. he did. _

he tells the same tale. to himself. and to others. he writes the same thing. only using different words. like a fool. trying to trick himself that the more he sees it. the less it would hurt. the more he thinks. the more he remembered. the less confused he would be. 

_ but it hurts. and he feels even more confused. _

he scoffed at himself. how dramatic it all was. how fake it possibly was. how sad to how long he clinged to the tale. and how pitiful it was for him to try write and rewrite the same story. over and over again.

+++

they tell him. repeatedly. yet the words do not stick. they don't sink deep into his bones. they don't ink into his skin.

he stared. he read. he listened. yet it never stayed.

it vanishes in the mist of fogged stubbornness.

the medical review stated.

_ sure. _

he didn't mean to ignore it. he doesn't. but the words that glare at him. they are hard to look at. hard to keep his head from spinning. hard to keep himself planted within reality. within his meant to be tense. his brain is a switch that keeps flicking. up. down. past. present.

he feels like he's spiralling. and he couldn't stop.

+++

he halted. in his writings. he had to.

his tenses were getting mixed again. he would have to go back to reread what he had wrote. yet the exhaustion slithered it's cold fingers around his neck and squeezed.

his heart hammered against his chest. to the beat of a song he had stuck in his head. he shrugged the feeling. not off. never off. 

he had to reread. he had to. had to. his bed is warm and comfortable around him.

he will read.

+++

"so what did you do today?"

"i woke up." he lies anyways.


End file.
